


Once More, with Feeling

by oshare_banchou



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (Recently) Established Relationship, Banter, Dancing, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Orlais
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oshare_banchou/pseuds/oshare_banchou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Grand Masquerade winds down, Dorian and the Inquisitor share a (rather distracting) dance on the balcony.</p><p>“It's exhilarating, watching you work."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More, with Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Slight spoilers for the "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts" questline.

   The pines in the garden below sway with the sigh of the cool evening breeze. The fire-scarred streets of Halamshiral fan out far in the distance, where the hard edge between the ornate Orlesian architecture of the High Quarter and the sprawl of the city slums blurs as if brushed in watercolors, washed clean by the light of the setting sun.

   Eyas closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Outside, the air is free of the nauseating bouquet of perfumes that hangs like a thick fog in the ballroom, the warring fragrances tinged with notes of despair. Reminiscent of the ham, in fact.

   Already his mind is racing with the wide-reaching implications of the newly brokered peace in Orlais. The fragile truce will inevitably dissolve—it is only a matter of _when_ and _how violently_ —and the Venatori are no doubt already working toward Corypheus’s next objective. Eyas tugs at the collar of his dress uniform, wanting nothing more than to strip out of the gaudy ensemble and get back to the business of saving the world from fanatical cults and delusional magisters.

   When Dorian joins him on the balcony and asks him to dance, the distraction is a welcome one. These days, the Inquisition takes its victories where it can. Yet in a single evening, they have not only foiled an assassination attempt and thwarted Corypheus’s plans once again, but have also taken a gaggle of squabbling Orlesians down a peg and spared innocent lives caught in the crossfire of the Game. Any one of those feats is cause enough for celebration.

   So Eyas accepts Dorian’s proffered hand without a second thought, and soon, they fall into an easy rhythm, taking slow turns around the balcony. A fresh storm of whispers kicks up just beyond the doors to the main hall, but they turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the gossips trading wild speculations about the elven Inquisitor and the Tevinter mage twirling each other about outside. It seems that no sooner have the chevaliers hauled the Grand Duchess off to a cell than the court is starved for another scandal.

   “Let’s give them a show, shall we?” Dorian quips, evidently well aware of their audience and its prying eyes. They pause for an elaborate spin, silhouetted in the open doorway.

   Eyas lets their surroundings fade into the background as he focuses on Dorian, who looks right at home in his Inquisition finery—to an almost unfair degree. The stark contrast between them (as he sees it, at any rate) reminds him that thanks are in order.

   “On behalf of the Inquisition, Clan Lavellan, and my own dubious dignity, you have my undying gratitude for the dance lessons,” Eyas says. He finds the steps come naturally now, which surprises him more than the events of the entire evening put together. “Josephine had enough on her plate for the night without having to worry about me committing any faux pas. But there were no wine goblets toppled, no masks knocked askew, and no noble toes trod upon. I’d consider that a success.”

   Dorian quirks an eyebrow at him. “You don’t think bringing an entire empire to heel qualifies as ‘stepping on toes’?”

   Eyas shakes his head. “No, I understand that’s not nearly as offensive to Orlesian sensibilities as _literally_ stepping on toes. Not by half.”

   “It simply wouldn’t do for rumors to spread that the Lord Inquisitor has two left feet,” Dorian says, his eyes alight with mirth. “Corypheus would never take you seriously.”

   They pass by the doors again, only to hear that the string quartet inside has struck up a new tune, the tempo larghetto now. They slow their steps to match, and this time, Eyas takes the lead.

   “You should know there was one rather astute countess in a Dracolisk mask who was curious as to how a Dalish elf came to be so well versed in Tevinter dances that went out of style in the Imperium two seasons ago,” he teases, anticipating Dorian’s reaction. It doesn’t disappoint.

   Dorian winces and curses in Tevene, as if the revelation of social ineptitude, however slight, has inflicted physical injury. “That is _precisely_ why I attempted to file a requisition for more current reference materials on the subject! My first-hand experience is woefully out of date, and the most you’ll find in Skyhold’s so-called ‘library’ is a pedantic history of the Remigold. But did anyone heed my advice? No, of course not!”

   Eyas is then treated to Dorian’s best impression of a certain Inquisition commander, which includes a great many emphatic gestures and a much thicker Fereldan accent than is probably realistic. Or healthy. “‘ _No_ , Dorian, we cannot _afford_ to squander _precious_ Inquisition resources on such _petty_ concerns!’”

   “Not to worry,” Eyas reassures him, chuckling at the dramatics. “When I changed the subject, the countess was more than happy to commiserate about the lack of variety of hors d’oeuvres.”

   That seems to bolster Dorian’s spirits. “See, what did I tell you? You’re a natural at this.”

   “Says the man who was obliged to inform me that I had put this ridiculous sash on backwards,” Eyas replies, smirking. He hadn’t been the worst offender: Sera had repurposed her sash as a makeshift slingshot, and Bull had elected to dispense with his jacket entirely—at least until Josephine and Leliana caught up with him. “In any case, thanks to you, I managed to avoid making a complete fool of myself this evening.”

   “Pity the same can’t be said of the Orlesian noblesse. They’ll be the laughingstock of the Imperium when word of this gets out.” Dorian slides his hand a touch lower on Eyas’s shoulder. Unintentionally, of course. “My dear countrymen won’t know whether to denounce you or erect statues in your honor.”

   “I aim to please,” Eyas says with his most winsome smile.

   The irony of that statement isn’t lost on Dorian, who freezes mid-step, indignant for both their sakes. “Lies, the lot of it! You thrive on subversion.” He lifts his chin and looks sidelong at the Inquisitor. “It’s exhilarating, watching you work.”

   “Is it, now?” Eyas leans into the hold, drawing Dorian closer, until their hips brush together and their lips are mere inches apart. He can feel the warmth of Dorian’s skin, even through their layers of silks and leathers.

   Perhaps the wine and the music and the night air have gone to their heads, but Eyas catches a spark of challenge in Dorian’s eyes, daring him to take it one step further. So he throws all caution to the wind, wraps his arms low around Dorian’s waist, and dips the man down for a kiss, consequences be damned. It is a dizzy, heady thrill, all closed eyes and pounding hearts. In the wake of tongue and teeth comes a tingling, full-body numbness akin to the sensation of standing too close to live lightning magic.

   When they finally surface, they cling to each other for balance, overcome with the kind of giddy, breathless laughter that calls to mind carefree young lovers sneaking out after midnight to serenade each other with bad poetry as they gaze up at the stars, before they learn better than to let words like “forever” and “always” fall so easily from their lips.

   To Eyas and Dorian, the feeling is utterly foreign, and terrifyingly so. But the world is a strange place these days. The impossible has been known to happen.

   Eventually the dance resumes, though their steps are a little clumsy at first. Someone—most likely a thoroughly harassed Commander Cullen trailed by a knot of handsy admirers—is going to have to drag them off the balcony when the last bell rings.

   “Distracted?” Dorian asks. His clothes and hair appear unruffled, but there is a fetching hint of color in his cheeks.

   “Wholeheartedly.” Eyas nods, laughing in spite of it all. “And very, very glad I didn’t drop you.”


End file.
